


Open Your Heart to Me, baby.. You Already Have Mine.

by TheGhostOfYou



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Equally Protective Mickey, F/M, Forced Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Making Love, Mentions of Rape, Near Death Experiences, Openly Gay Mickey, Panic Attacks, Protective Ian, Sibling Bonding, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, slow burn but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5772484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostOfYou/pseuds/TheGhostOfYou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But when you hold me like you do, it feels so right. I start to forget how my heart gets torn when that hurt gets thrown, feeling like you can't go on."</p><p>This Years Love - David Gray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - See Me As a Brick Wall.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have written Gallavich before, just not an AU. But I had this idea swimming around in my head for a while, and I finally got my ass in check, and started this story. I really hope you're all going to enjoy this.

Mickey has always loved the feeling of a gun in his hand. The sturdy weight in his palm, the feel of cool metal against his usually scorching skin. He loves the satisfying sound it makes when you cock it, almost as much as he relishes in seeing the bullet push past the opening. It's so quick, so swift.

He's been holding onto this particular one for the past half hour that he's been back in his old home, blue eyes glued to the door. The gun is loaded, prepared to go off anytime. He can do it this time. Mickey promises himself that over and over again. Promises that the next time he sees that bastard, the weapon will be fired.

Mickey's been focusing on his own thoughts so hard that he hadn't heard those first few timid knocks. But clearly this time, the person has gotten impatient because there's a loud bang on the door. He feels the panic rise, his throat constricts, so he just grips the gun tighter in his hand. Opening the front door had never felt like such a challenge before. It takes a great deal of strength to actually get off the couch, with his knees trembling so hard.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mickey is more than relieved when he opens the door and sees a face he definitely wasn't expecting, letting the gun drop down to the ground. There's some boy out on the porch, mouth open and orange hair peeking out from under his beanie.

The boy, almost man rather, seems to be just as shocked as Mickey for a moment. But then he's composing himself, eyes lighting up. "Mickey Milkovich?" The redhead looks too excited, and Mickey shrinks back uncomfortably, wishing that the guy would tone it down. No one's ever this happy to see him, not even his siblings. He just looks at the still nameless male with his brows raised. The other man takes a moment to read Mickey's expression, before shaking his head, laughing softly. "It's me. Ian... Ian Gallagher."

And all of a sudden, there is a flashback in the brunette's mind. He remembers Ian, and how different he looked to the guy standing out on the porch right now. Ian had been Mandy's best friend, always hanging around her. He'd been his sisters shy little friend who'd smile everytime Mickey would wave a hello. This man, this... Was that Ian.

"Ian Gallagher. Well, fuck me, man. You're a fuckin' bean pole now." Mickey can't help but smile somewhat, as he eyes Ian over, having to tilt his neck just the tiniest bit because Ian was at least a whole head taller. 

Seeing Ian makes Mickey remember that there was a time before. Triggers the past, allows it to feel real. When things were different, when he had just come out, and taken a beating from his dad. Seeing Ian reminded Mickey of what it had been like before he ran away with his guy, and fucked up his life to an extent that he no longer knew exactly what he was even doing.

Ian is smiling so damn hard, that Mickey wonders if it hurts. But he can't even focus on that too much right now, because all he can think about how someone, not even a very close someone at that, is looking at him with so much joy. The kind that no one looks at Mickey with. Mickey doesn't know how to feel about, foreign things like this always left him confused.

"I might have grown a bit, yeah." Ian's pretty pale, and there's just enough sun out that Mickey can see him blush scarlet. "Oh, shit, what's it been like... Two years? How've you been? How's, uh... Dave?"

Mickey's small smile drops at Ian's last question, eyes growing dark, as he trains them to look at the floor. "Derek. His name is Derek." Mickey feels sick talking about it already, too familiar a feeling gnawing at him. But he brushes it off. "Don't 20-fucking-questions me, Gallagher. Just, uh, get in here, man. Mandy 'll be home real soon."

He moves back enough to allow Ian to enter, before bending down to pick up his fallen gun, his thumb gently running down the barrel. He shuts the door behind them then, but not without a glance around the street. Everything looks fine, at least for now.

Mickey can tell that Ian's still been coming around here a lot, because he seems to know his way well enough. The redhead already has a bottle of water from the fridge in his hand, leaning against the couch. "It's been so long. You look.. Good."

"Oh, fuck off." There's no real heat to Mickey's works.

"What's with the gun? Expecting cops or something?"

Mickey's back tenses, his top row of teeth sinking into the lower swell of his lips. He can't tell Ian why he's really got the gun, won't let anyone know, actually. Doesn't want to know what people will think of him when they find out. Mickey's got enough labels on him with coming out as gay right before he skipped down. "Nah, just a little force of habit. Never open the door in this shitty neighbourhood without one."

He reaches up to place the gun on to a shelf, having to lean up a little bit to compensate for a lack in height. The movement causes his shirt to rise. It causes pale skin to be on display, and the contrasting blue and purple marks on it. Mickey takes a calming breath, thinking that if he acts natural, Ian won't notice. But it's too late.

The taller man is making his way over, concern practically written on his forehead. Here comes the question, Mickey knows it. He's had friends from work look at him the same way. Mickey hates it. "What.. What was that? What happened?"

Mickey let's out a forced chuckle. "Relax, Chuckie.. Was off-roading on my bike the other day, and hit the gass too hard. But not the breaks so much. Just a fucking klutz move." He's been practicing that one. Said at the gym once or twice so he thinks that his story must sound believable by now.

Ian doesn't look convinced though, and Mickey looks away for a moment. He'll handle this they way anyone would expect for him to do. A harsh 'fucking mind your own' and a grunt. But before either of them can get a word out, there's a banging on the front door. Someone relentlessly pounding a fist on the wood.

Mickey knows who it must be, because if Ian is already here, no one else is expected, who else would show up here? He thinks of grabbing that gun back, thinks of facing the knocker head on. He wants to deal with this. Only, Mickey's mind and body don't seem to be in sync, because he can't move, he can't breathe. Everything is falling down, burying him under.

The hairs on the back of Mickey's neck raise to attention as the person barges in as a next step, his eyes immediately narrowing as they land on Mickey. "Where the fuck you think you'regoing off, huh? Fucking leaving without a word.."

So Derek did remember where Mickey's house was, he'd said differently last night when Mickey had asked to be driven there, or maybe he just asked around. But all that mattered right now was that he was in here, that murderous glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, so? You're not my fucking keeper, asshole! Go home, I'll meet up with you in a while." Mickey hopes that his voice sounds a lot stronger than he actually feels right now. Because in reality he's feeling faint, his legs are like jelly. He won't show that, though. You can't be a Milkovich and be weak at the same time. Those two just do not mix.

Derek laughs, the sound making Mickey shudder, which turns into an outright shiver because Derek is so close now, his face right up with Mickey's. "The fuck did you say?"

Mickey can't inhale anymore, air seems to be so thin in this moment. He feels caged, strangled. He's going to be sick. His chest is getting real tight, and Mickey forces himself to remember those ridiculous breathing excersises that actually do end up working sometimes.

"You need the fuck out, alright?" It takes Mickey a second to realise exactly where than voice is coming. But a glance behind Derek's shoulder, and he gets a glimpse of ginger hair. There's malice in Ian's tone, and something in his hand. Something sharp, and that's all Mickey can make out over the pounding in his head. Derek doesn't bulge. "Now." Ian's voice is dead cold. "Get away from him, and leave. Now."

Derek spins around, golden hair moving into his eyes as he does so. Mickey knows from experience that his partner doesn't scare easy. So Derek must know that Ian is not bluffing as the knife he's holding gets dangerously close to his chest.

"And who the fuck are you, gingernut? Look, why don't you stay out of what you don't belong? Mickey and I are having a little conversation here." Derek's sneering, meeting Ian head on with a stance almost as certain as the redhead's.

Ian's knuckles are getting white as they clench tighter around the handle of the kitchen appliance. Mickey wants to intervene, say something, because he doesn't even want to risk the chance of something happening to Ian. But Ian is apparently not someone who backs down when smack in the face of something that can only end badly. "Really? Because by the look of it.. Mickey wants you gone. So get the FUCK out."

Ian is breathing hard, something in expression seems off to Mickey. It's not aggressive like Derek, it's crazed. Ian looks like a man man, psychotic enough in this moment to actually stab the blonde to death.

Derek growls at Ian. Maybe it wasn't so much of a growl, but definitely some kind of sick, animalistic sound. "Fine, I'll go.." He glances back at Mickey, eyes still slits. "But I bet you this, this fucking carrot top won't always be around to save your sorry ass."

By the time Derek actually has one foot out the door, his whole demeanour changes. Tone pleading, and gentle. Same shit happens every time, he gets soft when the worst of the shit-storm is over, enough to convince Mickey to come back in the end. It's a vicious, ongoing cycle. And Mickey wants to throw a fucking punch at the whole world because of it.  Because he keeps falling for this. "Just.. Come back to mine soon, Mick. Can't be away from you so long, baby." With that he's gone, out of sight.

The nickname gives Mickey almost as much of a chill, as it does relax him. It makes him remember there are worse things. Like still being stuck here with Terry. Derek took him far away from a father who wanted to kill Mickey. Derek had been like a knight in shining armor at the time, not that Mickey will actually admit that he thought of something so corny.

But Derek wasn't exactly what he seemed to be before he left. Some nights he could be as bad as Terry. As cruel, and demeaning. Mickey bites down on his tongue, hard, trying to stop himself from thinking about it.

He still takes a whole minute to regain himself, walking back towards the couch, when Ian clears his throat. Mickey wants to run, far far away from here because someone has seen too much. Someone who was probably afraid of Mickey at some point had now seen him quaver like some bitch. Mickey does his best to act like Ian still isn't here.

"Did he do that to you?" Ian's eyes fall onto Mickey's hips, where he'd previously seen bruised skin. "Mickey, did he fucking do that to you?"

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Gallagher."

"Really? Is that so!?" Ian's fuming, his hands moving erratically by his sides as if he wants to punch something. "He.. He fucking hi-"

Mickey's expression immediately causes the other male to stop short, because hell, he can look as murderous as Derek. He's Mickey fucking Milkovich after all. He's scared enough people in his lifetime. But he also knows the way he's carrying himself right now is not going to coincide with what he's about to say, but anything to get Ian to stop looking at Mickey with that stupid look of care, and concern and a whole bunch of other things he can't place. He can't stand it. "Shut the fuck up, okay? Don't even think of finishing that fucking sentence." Mickey is vibrating with rage right now, his teeth ground together. No one is allowed to see any of that, let alone talk about it. Because in Mickey's head things are not as bad as they really are. Because if let's the reality of it really, really sink in, he'll lose all of his mind. "Stay the fuck out of it, do you hear me? One word... To anyone and I'll rip your tongue out of your mouth."

Anger is the alternative. A mask that Mickey's trained himself to wear since he was little. It always managed to hide what was inside, and as his dad had always said, letting anyone see what's actually going on in one's head is like stepping into a crossfire. It's no good for you. So this is what Mickey does, what he was raised to do. To cover up everything else with a good swing from his tattooed hand and a filthy mouth.

Mickey's just doing what he always does. He's closing himself back up, Ian had already seen too much. He'd seen the fear, the panic. Order had to be restored, it just had to. He wouldn't let anyone make anything out of his situation. Not in this lifetime. Not while he could still throw a punch that could land someone in the emergency room.

Ian looks like he's going to protest. His green eyes are desperate, almost teary as he tries to get closer to the brunette. He only edges further away from Ian. Mickey is ready to bolt if he has to, to get away. He's not about to start dealing with this, especially when Ian's face looks so comforting. He won't fall for that, won't risk letting everything out.

But as if the God's were on his side just this once, Mandy chooses this exact moment to walk into the house, a large box of pizza in her hands. "Hey, Ian.. Mick. You're still here, asswipe?" She grins at her brother, settling the food into Ian's hands. "Wanna join us for dinner?" It takes her a moment to pick up on the tense atmosphere. Looking from one male to the other. "What the fuck happened here? Someone really needs to get rid of the testosterone levels."

Mickey has seemed to level out himself somewhat in the time it took this whole exchange to happen. His body language screams nonchalant, in a way that Ian has Ian silently screaming. You can see it in his eyes. "I need a goddamn smoke. Gotta go by some more. Save me a slice will, ya bitch?" It's not harsh like most of Mickey's slurs, just the way he and Mandy are. They're good that way.

Mickey feels Ian staring a whole in the back of his head as he makes for the door, doing his very best not to look back and ask Ian to come with him. But of course, he doesn't. Because there are two things that completely make Mickey's teeth hurt, and his head feel like it's going to explode. One, someone messing with his sister, no fucker would screw with her if he had something to do with it. And two, he won't let himself look weak in front of another soul, no one beside Derek has ever seen the absolute vulnerability in Mickey's eyes, and no one else ever could. As far as the world was to know, Mickey was a brick wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So don't hate me, BUT I AM ONLY ON 5X06. Why you ask? Because well I know what happens and I'm too chicken shit therefore to actually reach that episode. Yikes.
> 
> So yeah, I really fucking love Gallavich, and I hope this story does all you fellow fans justice. And you all are totally justified to hate Derek from right here, the start. Aha. I also hope to update of a weekly basis. No seriously, I will try my best not to be late on it.
> 
> And of course, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Mwah.


	2. Chapter 2 - Fleeting Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I early with this? Oh, my, I think I am. Ahem. I was feeling really shitty these past couple days and well, writing usually makes me feel better.
> 
> It definitely did this time. Enjoy!

It's bordering on midnight when Mickey finally opens the door, cigarette held between hips lips as he struggles to remove his jacket. The temperature is not a lot warmer inside, but he doesn't seem keen to keep the weight of it own when he can just climb into bed and crawl under the covers. His room has been untouched ever since he left, maybe just neater. As if Mandy took it upon herself to keep it in a somewhat presentable condition just in case her brother ever did come home.

The house is dark, not a single light on other then the one lamp in the kitchen. Mickey assumes that means either everyone is already signed off for the night, or planning to stumble home at three in the morning. Either way, he's ready to sleep.

His fingers hook themselves around the end of the cigarette pulling it out so a puff of air slips out of his mouth and nose. The feeling of nicotine filling his bloodstream, is almost enough to get him to ignore his phone continously vibrating. Mickey sighs, stubbing out what's left off the bud in an ashtray on the dinner table.

He pulls the phone from his pocket, finger swiping across the screen to reveal a string of text messages, each a couple minutes after the other. They start out sweet, and simple, just asking when he'll be coming back, but as the night progressed, and Derek seemed to acquaint himself with drink after drink, they got angrier. A bunch of typed out cusses, missing an alphabet or two in between. Mickey's fingers clench around the device, to a point where he knows if he goes any harder on it, it will break.

Instead he clicks it off, waiting until the device completely shuts down before leaving it in the kitchen. Mickey doesn't want to deal with this tonight, doesn't want to go home to a drunken Derek and hear all about how mad he is about this evening. Tonight Mickey can stay here, nothing can force him to be around Derek, when he's got a place of his own.

He plans to sleep in well past noon, wake up to Mandy grumbling as she shoves breakfast at the rest of his brothers. Mickey wants to spend the day bickering with his siblings. Making fun of Mandy, and laughing about utter nonsense with Iggy. It's been so long since he's looked forward to waking up, he's missed it here despite everything. Not that he'll admit it, because then he will never hear the end of it.

Walking past Mandy's room, he notices the door is practically wide open. And inside on her bed is Ian, with his sister snuggled into his side. Mickey remembers he used to find it weird the first couple of times he saw them like that, but when Mandy one day blurted out Ian was gay, so no one had to worry about an unplanned pregnancy, he let it slip. Ian was just her friend, he wouldn't try anything.

Mickey stops for a minute, just standing at the doorframe, his gaze on his sisters sleeping form. Girl could sleep through anything, he knew that first hand from that time, a couple of summers ago when there was a mild earthquake. Mandy had woken up hours later, unable to tell what the whole neighbourhood was fussing about. What he wasn't expecting however, was to find Ian wide awake, his green eyes on Mickey. There wasn't much Mickey could see, since the room had only the single stream of light coming from the rip in the curtains, but from the shuffling sounds he could tell that Ian was making his way over.

He sighs again, aware that Ian will want to talk about it. Might as well get it over with, with a straight face and shrug of his shoulders. Ian had seen what he had, but that didn't mean Mickey couldn't act like it was no big deal. 

"Hey." Ian Whispers.

"Hey, yourself."

Ian smiles, sort of sleepily, his arms curling tighter around himself as if he was cold. Mickey wants to offer him a blanket. "Was almost about to think you weren't coming back..."

"Well, I'm here aren't I?" Mickey keeps his tone at bay, not so much that it's lacking emotion, but no where near expressive either. He walks back towards the kitchen, signalling Ian to follow. There's no way to avoid this, not unless he wants to go to Derek's. Up to him to pick the lesser of the evils. Mickey opens the fridge, grabbing at a beer. He's going to need one, maybe more, to get through this conversation. Better to start preparing now.

"You want one?" Mickey asks.

Ian shakes his head softly, sitting down on one of the chairs around the table, waiting for Mickey to come over and join him. "Don't drink. But, uh, thanks."

Mickey's brows fly up into his hairline. No one should be able to live in this neighbourhood and make it through the day without something strong. He'd ask Ian, but something about the look on the boy's face, says it's not the right time. So Mickey just leans against the wall opposite to Ian, bringing the opening of the bottle to his lips. He can't enjoy the sip, because Ian is looking at him with those same eyes from before. Mickey can't bare with it a second longer.

"Spit it out, Gallagher. Let's fucking get this over with."

Ian looks like he's got so many thoughts in his head. So many burning questions just resting on the tip of his tongue. But he seems to have picked one. "Why do you do this? I mean, you can leave him, you know that?" Ian plays with a stray strand of his hair. "You know that, right?"

Mickey scoffs. "Yes, I'm fully fuckin' aware of my rights as a US citizen."

Ian looks dissatisfied with that answer, but Mickey doesn't elaborate. So he asks another question. "This happen a lot?"

Of course it does. Mickey wants to snap at him, just get it out of his system, but his pride has the better of him as always. He shrugs. "Not like I don't leave a couple marks on him. Can throw a fucking punch, thank you very much." Mickey finishes the rest of his beer in a couple quick gulps, trying to drown down anything he would regret later, before it can escape his mouth. "He's an ass sometimes, s'all. I'm no better. You know me."

Ian's clearly not buying into the bravado like other people do, frustrating the brunette to no end. He sees through it. "When he came over today... Mick, you looked so scared... Like you were afraid he was gonna fucking kill you or something. Why? Why do you stay with him?"

The bottle snaps in Mickey's hand sometime during Ian's persistence, the shattered glass falling over the floor, some of it slicing into his palm enough to leave a small angry red line. Mickey can't care less right now, his head is pounding, eyes close to tearing up. Talking about things always made them seem realer than they had to be.

"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. Okay? You don't know the first thing about me. You don't know what it's like to be the way I am in this family. My dad tried to kill me, Ian." Mickey feels something inside him snap, a coil that would press into every square inch of him. It fills him with so much more raw emotion than what he's used to. Mickey doesn't get into his feelings, doesn't talk about what bothers him.

Except right now, he's breathing hard, the truth, the actual reality of his situation on the tip of his tongue. He wipes messily at his eyes. "He got me out of here, helped when I was struggling to breathe. Derek saved me, alright? He took me away, and maybe he's the biggest fucking asshole I've ever let screw me, but there are things worse than that. Believe me, I've seen them."

Mickey grunts, the outburst taking more out of him than he'd have imagined. His back is slumped against the wall now, voice getting louder and louder as he goes on, not bothering to look directly at Ian, too afraid of what he'll see. "So yeah, there it is. Fucking laid out for you. I stay with him, 'cause he's all I have. I can't be back here long with all that shit that went down, so he's all I have anymore."

He helps himself to a shuddering breath, focusing on getting air to flow in and out of his lungs normally again. His cheeks are wet, but he doesn't care. Mickey can't possibly look any more pathetic now with the things that came out of his mouth. Finally daring to look at Ian, he can't even fathom what he's seeing.

Ian's eyes are red, his own face stained. Mickey doesn't understand, he doesn't get why this bothers the redhead so much. He can't wrap his head mind around why Ian cares so much. They barely know one and other outside of little bits of interaction, haven't spoken once in these two years.

"Mickey..." It's barley a whisper, but Ian has gotten so close to the brunette, that he can be heard loud and clear. "Terry's in prison... Serving what? Two, maybe three more years... You can come back. Come back to the people who'll take care of you, who won't fucking do this to you. Come back to.. Us.."

Ian has soft hands. Mickey can tell when he feels them pressing against his face gently. They are also warm, kind of like the way Ian smiles. Warm and comforting.

He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "S'really not that simple, Gallagher. Ain't so fucking easy."

Ian's large hands are cupping his face so tenderly it makes him shrink back, green eyes fixed on Mickey's blue ones. "No. No, no, no... You deserve better, Mick. Better than what your dad is... What Derek is. You deserve so much goddamn better." His voice cracks at the last bit.

Unfamiliar things never made Mickey feels calm, no matter what the intention is behind them. He's not familiar with the way Ian's staring at him, or being told he's worth more. Definitely not used to the second one. He runs away from soft touches and kind words. Been trying to do that his whole life, because for a moment, if he let himself find happiness is those loving gestures, he'd be done. Mickey knew better than to fall in love. He knew that those moments would be over before he knew it, and the harsh reality of his life would return before he knew what hit him. It happened with Derek so many times, not that he was in love with him. There was a point where he did think Derek cared, that he loved Mickey despite his own inability. Knowing what things were really like between the two hurt more than most things did for the longest time.

Mickey knew better than to fall for this again, even though his resolve was cracking.

It was like Ian could see the battle in Mickey's eyes because the taller male's arms are slipping around his shoulders, bringing them so close that their chests are pressed together. If it hadn't been for Ian's hold on him, Mickey swears he would have dropped.

"So much better than all of this, Mick." It's the last that comes out of Ian's mouth before he's pressing his lips to Mickey's, short and sweet.

Mickey doesn't know how to respond, what to do, just tenses on the spot. He and Derek don't kiss, other then a few times Mickey can't even remember all the the time, it's too intimate. It means too much. A kiss is a thing that seals it all, proves something; a promise. That was something he and Derek don't have. They don't kiss.

With Ian it felt different. Mickey felt good about, felt his nerves catch fire from that simple a gesture. Left craving more, and it doesn't help that Ian is looking at Mickey like Mickey's the sun, and Ian is a blind man who has his sight back.

Mickey leans back in, his hand against Ian's neck as they kiss again. It's just as captivating as the last, but more urgent. Mickey kisses Ian like he's afraid the redhead will disappear. Like it's all a dream, and Mickey needs to get as much of Ian's lips as he possibly can before everything is over and he's awake.

The kiss gets deeper, and Mickey relishes in the way, Ian's mouth fits against his. Two complimenting puzzle pieces. Mickey can feel himself getting hard, as Ian gently pushes him back, mouth rougher, desperate against his own. A hand clearing the table of the oddities scattered on it, and Ian's helping guide him onto it, settling a thigh between Mickey's parted legs.

Ian rolls the taut muscle at the same time as his teeth sink into Mickey's lip, causing the brunette to groan quietly, head being thrown back. That was an invite to go further, and now Ian's teeth are scraping against Mickey's throat. Mickey can't think straight when he feels teeth push into sensitive skin, his hips moving harder against Ian's thigh. He feels so good. His body hasn't reacted like this in so long.

Despite the fact that Mickey really wants to get off, and then see Ian's face contort as he does the same, his mind doesn't seem to be able to completely lose itself in this moment. Mickey thinks about what he said to Ian. Mickey thinks about the pain that will come if Ian never looks at him this way again. Mickey's terrified, he's forgotten how to trust. Not that he ever really knew how.

Mickey doesn't want to feel this good around anyone, he can't afford to imagine what it would be to have to go back to his life with Derek, after letting Ian make him feel this cared for, this happy. He meant what he said, he can't stay. Happy endings were an illusion Mickey had learned to steer far from. And maybe that's why he couldn't quit Derek. They were already in the pits, nothing could really go any more downhill.

"Ian.. Ian, get off." Mickey pushes harder than he intended to, his erection already deflating as the thoughts in his head make him feel sick. Head spinning as the nausea fits him harder.

Ian's clearly taken by shock, but he moves away immediately, giving tbe shorter man space to breathe. Panic displayed on those sharp features. "Mick, what's wrong? Hey..."

Mickey ducks as he Ian's hand moves towards his arm. He doesn't need another one of those soft touches, he's made up his mind. He can't stay and doesn't want anything to change in for him. "I can't fucking do this. Things are what they are, okay? You need to grow the fuck up, and except that." 

He pushes past the redhead, not even bothering to put his jacket on properly as he practically bolts out the front door. Mickey takes a deep breathe once he's out on the porch, groaning as Ian stubbornly follows after him.

"Mickey, please... Believe me. You're better than this, whether you see it or not... Please don't go. Stay, please." Ian's pleading so hard, Mickey can see him barley managing to stand upright. Ian's eyes are like the ocean right how, swallowing him whole.

This is exactly why he could never have Ian. People like Ian needed better than people like him. Mickey had convinced himself a very long time agao, that he was too fucked to love, or be loved entirely by anyone. Ian was too good for him. Ian was like that happy ending that Mickey would never get. He needed to leave right now, before he could get in any deeper.

"Was a fucking mistake. We... This shouldnt'a happened. I need to fucking go." It hurts Mickey to say it, to see that pained look on Ian's face as he just keeps repeating himself 'please don't go'. It makes his heart feel uncomfortably stuck under a dead weight. He wanted Ian, he just couldn't have him. Milkovich's were not supposed to have nice things like that.

He runs back to Derek's cousins place, where they were supposed to stay while some business Mickey knew nothing about was worked out. Ignoring the fact that Ian called after him, again and again.

Mickey stops at the door before he enters, taking a couple of minutes to get a hold of himself, putting on that brave face as he walks into the house. Mickey could face Derek, make up some shitty excuse about shooting stuff with Iggy. Only Mickey didn't notice that Ian's mouth had left a mark, a brand on his throat.

•••

Derek's sitting there on the couch, a bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor beside his feet. His expression blank. It makes Mickey's skin crawl.

"Ey, you, uh, didn't have to stay up for me..." Mickey forces a smile as he sits down beside the other man, foot subtly tapping against the wood flooring. It's a nervous movement, something he's sure he couldn't stop even if he tried. "Iggy came home, was just catching up and shit, y'know."

Derek just nods, a hand settling down on Mickey's knee. "Have fun.." His fingers are stroking up and down rhythmatically. It's an oddly affectionate gesture. "...letting your brother fucking mark you up? Or is there something you're not telling me?" Derek's grip on his knee becomes unpleasant, free hand coming up to point at the love bite Ian had left behind.

Mickey's blood runs cold as realisation dawns upon him. He's a dead man. He tries to move far away from Derek, but the hand on his leg is strong, as if it were making sure Mickey could go nowhere.

"Did that fucking ginger give you this? Knew something was going on. Asshole makes me fucking leave and then wants a piece of what's mine?" Blunt fingernails are probably leaving behind little half moons in Mickey's skin. He can feel it even with the denim barrier of his jeans. "Gonna fucking beat that little twink to death.. Teach him a lesson."

Mickey's head snaps to attention, that last bit enough to pull him out of his current frame of mine. Derek's rage was directed to Ian, he wanted to hurt Ian.

Mickey laughs, the sound humourless. "Lay a hand on him, I fucking dare you. I will put bullet in your fat fucking head." This was no longer something that could just be pushed aside. Threatening Ian had been like a final nail in the coffin. Mickey feels surprisingly at ease with whatever will happen next, a burst of adrenaline pumping around inside oh him.

"You wanna protect his ass? You can barley save your own?" The blonde rubs his palm across Mickey's side, purposely pressing into the bruised section. The same hand then coils into a fist, aimed directly to Mickey's gut.

It's not that aggressive a blow, just enough to have Mickey letting out a loud grunt, as he turns onto his side, throwing one leg over Derek's lap. Straddling him, trapping him from moving. There's a loud cracking sound as Mickey's knuckles ram into his nose.

"Fuck. You."

Blood spills down Derek's face, down onto Mickey's jeans. There are hands clenching his shirt, throwing him to the ground as Derek gets on top of him.

"You goddamn idiot, Mickey.. All he wants to do is screw you. No one else is gonna even give half as much of shit as I do!" Derek's got hands around the brunette's throat, not a strangle yet, but close. Though that's not what Mickey is thinking about, his mind is stuck on what Derek just said. As if he didn't already know that.

Mickey's not done, he bends his knee, the angle sharp enough to get the man on top to stumble off with a loud thud.

"You piece of shit. Your fucking dad can't stand you, your slut of a sister couldn't care less... Fuck you, I'm all you got!" Derek doesn't shut up until Mickey punches him in the nose again, harder and harder with each doubt being put in his mind.

That's how it is for the next near half hour. It's a blurry mess of fists, blood dripping down chins, the occasional 'motherfucker' being thrown at the other. It takes a sharp sound coming from Mickey's rips to get them to separate, both panting hard.

The two men sit in silence, nursing bones which may or may not be broken. Mickey doesn't remember ever putting up this much of a fight in the past, it was always pointless. One of them would have just ended up dead. That is what they had come to. Only, this time he couldn't help himself.

Mickey hates how much he wishes he was back at the Milkovich place, looking at ginger hair instead of blonde. But he also remembers how he willingly left, because Ian doesn't deserve someone so incapable of normality. Ian deserves good things, and Mickey knows he can't give him that. He left because he knew he couldn't be what Ian needed.

"Only said that stuff cause I got jealous, Mick. You know that..."

There it came, the bait. Mickey couldn't understand why Derek said the same shit over and over again, when he would contradict it any chance he got. Sure, Mickey was not exactly the most truthful person there was, but this was something else all together.

Derek was moving closer. Sliding up until their knees were touching. "Love you. You know that." Lies.

There was no love between them, maybe once, the whole two years ago, when everything was new or maybe not even then. Mickey's never said it back.

"Whatever." Mickey picks himself off the ground before Derek can get handsy. He doesn't want those hands on him, he wants to remember Ian's touch for as long as possible. "I'm going to bed, you do whatever the fuck you want."

The two of them finally end up in bed together early morning, the sun barley up. Mickey puts a fair amount of distance between the two of them, he doesn't want to have sex despite Derek's obvious attempts. Certainly doesn't want to wake up entangled with the guy.

Mickey gets a chance to be left alone with his thoughts, Derek passed out drunk next to him. He thinks about Ian. He wants to feel his lips again. Thinking what if he could be the guy Ian wanted. Seems unlikely. 'Fuck ups remain fuck ups' his dad had always said to him, and no one can tell Mickey otherwise. He'd seen it first hand.

Sleep escapes him. He can't stop thinking about Ian, wanting to text him, apologise for running away like he always does. So he tries to convince himself it's a good thing he doesn't have Ian's number. Mickey spends the morning sitting in bed, a Marlboro often between his fingers. He barley knew Ian, only remembered little details about from anytime other than last night. Yet he couldn't shake him off, or that way he looked at Mickey.

He checks the clock after a while, watching as a normal hour to be awake is finally passing, so he can go find his brothers.

Mickey slips out of bed, pulling his jeans up his hips, phone already in his jacket pocket since last night, so he fishes it out. There are three missed calls from an unknown caller, Mickey's pretty sure he knows who. He should call back, let Ian know everything was fine. Those calls get ignored instead. If Mickey hears Ian's voice again, he'll cave, go back to him, back to where they left off.

He throws a glance over his shoulder, to find Derek still dead asleep. How easy it would be to just pick a gun, load it and end it all now. A part of Mickey knows he could do it, the South Side's main export is criminals. Milkovich's being the finest of them.

With those images floating around his mind, he calls Iggy, listening to his ranting with a small smile. Helps take his mind of getting a possible charge of murder. Iggy promises to meet him at the one of the places where part of the Milkovich family business takes place, meaning a bunch of coke is fronted to rich North Side kids.

Everything right now seemed to be about Derek and Ian, in his head. Mickey's sick of the pounding headache it gives him. He needs the distraction, maybe a sample of the product even, if Iggy's feeling generous.

As always, Mickey does what he's best at. He runs from his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO FINALLY GREW A PAIR AND FINISHED S5? Oh wow.. What a crappy ending, I was bawling like a lil bitch. I really hope this isn't it for our boys. I'd really like to see this ship flourish at the end. A girl can dream right?
> 
> As for the story...  
> Poor Mick, poor conflicted Mick.. My baby.  
> Keep those comments and kudos coming, I really love the support from you guys! Enjoy mwah.


	3. Chapter 3 - Parasites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings; talk about self harm and an unorthodox sex scene.

Home hasn't changed much since the last time Mickey was here. Two years spent away and he could still remember his way around just fine. A lot of the houses are looking more run-down, but then again people here were always struggling to make ends meet, no one can really afford to renovate.

The Alibi's the first place on his agenda, he needs a drink, something unrefined to help with the way his ribs ache. He expects to find Kev behind the bar, instead finding his woman. She eyes Mickey for a moment before offering a slight smile, already reaching for the whiskey.

"Not even back a day and you're already falling back into old habits?" She tsks under her breath, sliding the glass his way.

Mickey shrugs. He would have been very cautious about letting anyone out of town see him this way. There would be unanswerable questions, judging looks. Over here, it was nothing new to see someone look like they had their ass handed to them. Especially not when it was one of Terry's sons. 

"Can't have no fuckface think I've gone soft and all. Queer or not."

Veronica looks at him skepticaly for a moment, taking in the way Mickey's mouth twists in disgust as he speaks about himself. "Don't worry about it, white-boy. Everyone here has seen what you're capable of, only a moron would step up." She laughs, pouring him another drink. "Need a painkiller or something?"

He contemplates, shaking his head after a moment knowing he'd rather dip into Iggy's supply. 

Shit, Iggy. He'd almost forgotten. 

"Nah, but thanks. I got this." Mickey finishes the last of the amber liquid, a hand reaching down into his jeans from where he extracts a couple notes. He leave the money on the bartop, offering Veronica a slight salute as he ducks out the door.

•••

By the time he's standing beside Iggy, Mickey's short of looking homicidal. Eyes livid as he watches deal after deal. It's something they've always done. One of them trades the stuff, the other stands there looking intimating enough to keep everything in check. 

In between clients Mickey catches Iggy continously glance at him, eyes skimming the place where a nasty looking scar is left behind near his left cheek. It's eating away at his nerves but he's glad his brother refrains from questions. 

Iggy tells him when they're done, reaching for one of Mickey's smokes with a wry smile. Mickey let's him, returning the favor by shifting some of the white powder onto his fisted hand from a ziplock. He's got a single finger pressed to the opposite side of his nose and he leans forward but a hand around his wrist stops him.

"None of that." 

Mickey scoffs. "When'd you turn into the poster boy for moral citizens. Just a single fucking line, man." 

Iggy hasn't let go of his hand yet, and he doesn't until he shakes Mickey's fist around letting the substance dissolve away like a white cloud of smoke. "You don't need that shit, little bro. It's a bunch of garbage and you realise it after a while. Does nothing but fuck you up." 

Mickey wasn't expecting this out of his brother; who'd probably spent more time high than anyone else in the house but he understood where it came frome. Even if only sort of. He hasn't done anything heavy since he left, and starting again seemed pointless. None of them were the same misfits Terry hand raised, not anymore.

He sighs, turning to Iggy with a stubborn expression. Tone leaving no space for an argument. "Fine. But you're at the very least scoring me up some good weed, yeah asshole?"

There's a short bout of laughter coming from Iggy as he throws an arm around Mickey in one easy move. "Now you're talking. But after, right now I promised Mandy I'd drag your sorry ass to lunch." He roughs up the shorter man's hair before stepping aside. "Come on, even Colin is dropping in." 

"Ugh. Yeah, fine. Come on then, Yogi Bear. Let's get a fucking move on." Mickey grins, shoving at his brother as an indication to lead the way.

•••

The second they enter the diner, the smell of warm apple pie wafts up towards Mickey, and his stomach growsl. He hadn't even realised how ungry he was until then. His eyes overlook the small crowd of people present until they find Mandy.

Next to her Colin looks up, a smile cracking on his lips as he lifts out of his seat. "Could call next time you decide to pop in, maybe? I was almost about to ditch town for a couple of days to take care of sumthin'." He offers Mickey a hug, which turns out to be an excuse to pull the shorter man into a headlock. "Seriously, assface. Haven't heard from you in like what? Nine months?"

Mickey grins, his hands clasping around the offending limb around his neck, managing to hurl it aside. "Work, Collin. Been fuckin' busy." He winces slightly at the pressure on his side. "Here now aren't I?" 

"Damn straight. Or well, uh..." Colin snickers, settling back into the booth as his brothers do the same.

Mandy's sharp blue eyes give them all a disapproving glance at the commotion being caused, before waving frantically at someone behind Mickey's head. "Ian! Ian, over here..." 

His head whips around at that, blue eyes meeting green ones long enough for Mickey to see the concerned way in which they take in the state of his face. Ian doesn't move any further, his hands nervously toying with the black beanie that he must have just pulled off. 

"The fuck you looking at?" Mickey grunts, dropping his stare and turning his head so he can look at anyone else other than the redhead. His lips tingle with the memory of last night, his skin itches to be close to Ian again. 

By the time Ian has actually made his way close enough to the band of Milkovich siblings, he's worrying his lips in a way that makes Mickey wants to merge into the cushioned seat and dissappear. Ian was in no context managing to keep his feelings at bay, and in front of his family, at that. 

Mickey's own nerves are being shot at as he distracts himself with the menu, looking over the same few pages in a repetitive manner. He wills Ian to keep his mouth shut silently, shrinking when he hears the taller boy speak finally.

"Y'know, Mandy, I'm not feeling too great. You think it would be okay if I just went home?" 

Ian's face is pale, when Mickey finally braves a glance at him. Hands wrapped around himself in the same way he did last night. It makes Mickey feels awful, and he forgets for a minute how mad Ian knowing details of his life with Derek makes him. He wants to reassure him, maybe play if off in a joking manner.

Mandy's words silence him. "You take your pills this morning? Want me to call..." 

"No, no, no." Ian firmly shakes his head, a forced smile playing on his lips as he motions towards the door. "I'm just gonna rest some, okay? Call you later." 

He meets Mickey's gaze for a last time whith his hand on the handle of the door, unspoken words furiously trying to rip from his throat. And before Mickey can even blink, he's gone. 

The sound of nails tapping relentlessly across the wooden surface of the table finally draw Mickey out of his stupor. Mandy's hand is moving in a distracted manner, and that's when he remembers what she asked Ian. She said something about pills.

The words leave his mouth before he can even think long enough to stop them. "What's wrong with Gallagher? Meds? Yesterday he said he don't drink.." 

His sisters brows knit together at the question before she finally shakes her head. "Not my story to tell, Mick... You should ask him, he'll tell you, just don't... Push it." She says nothing more, calling out for the waitress.

All hunger that had earlier made Mickey's stomach grumble is now gone, replaced by an uncomfortable feeling he can't yet give a name to. He tries his hardest not to worry, but it's becoming more and more difficult not to. The need to know that the gangly redhead was alright was enough to make him sick. 

When the food finally comes, he eats silently, letting the rest of them talk over him. 

•••

This may one of the worst ideas Mickey has ever had, but he's here outside the door with Ian's fallen beanie tucked tightly into his hands as he waits. The plan this morning had been to avoid the guy at all cost, but he can't walk away with the fear that there was something wrong with Ian, weighing down on him. So instead, Mickey just promises himself that he's only here to make sure Ian is okay, not because he'd rather the spend the with him, than Derek. Or because he needs Ian around him to feel any sort of grounding.  

The eldest Gallagher opens the door for him. "Hey, you looking for Mandy? You just missed her." 

"No, no. I'm here for Ian." He adds then quickly, holding the piece of clothing out for her to see. "He left his hat at lunch." 

Fiona simply nods at him as she walks back inside the house, leaving Mickey to saunter in, shutting the door behind him. He's never been inside here, at least he can't remember ever having a reason to come in before. It's a mess, a lot like how his family home is, but in a better way. The mess here isn't guns and empty bottles, but rather schoolbooks and toys. This house feels more like home. 

"He's upstairs." Fiona's voice floats back to him as she comes out from what must be the kitchen, a sandwich in her hands. "Mind giving him this? He was back home from the diner so early I'm sure he hasn't eaten. And well, he has to." 

Mickey takes the plate from her with a frown. "Look... He's not dying or something is he?" The words leave a source taste in his mouth, and more importantly they make his lower lip tremble in a way it isn't supposed to. "Mandy said he was on medication, but she didn't elaborate." 

Her eyes go wide in alarm. "No, oh God. No. He's not dying, Mickey. He's just.. Go ask him when you're up there. He doesn't like people finding out from anyone but himself. But God, no. Don't worry, it's not like that." She gives him a slight nudge towards the stairs, occupying herself with tidying up. "How're things going with that boyfriend? Mandy mentioned you guys living together in Michigan." 

Mickey feels the need to deny her words, deny who he is like he always does back here in Chicago, but the way she says it, with no judgement, with actual interest. He just shrugs. "They're going." 

All doors upstairs are closed except the one towards the end, where luckily he finds Ian, balled up under the covers with an old dingy looking laptop in his lap, headphones shoved into his ears. The look on Ian's face is calm compared to what it had been at lunch, his eyes fixed on whatever was on the screen. Mickey really hopes he hasn't stumbled onto Ian while he's watching porn. 

He enters the room unnoticed before jabbing Ian in the shoulder. The redhead is clearly taken aback, reaching to yank the earbuds down. His scowl is evident until he turns enough to see Mickey, just looking confused then.

"Eat." It's not a request, it's a demand as Mickey moves the laptop from Ian's lap only to replace it with the plate. 

"Don't want to. I'm not hungry."

Mickey sighs, sitting at the edge of the bed next to the other male's feet. "I don't care. Your sister says you have to, so you can either start eating or I can always force it down your throat." 

Ian grumbles at the empty threat, picking at the bread bit by bit instead of just taking a bite. He looks adorable like this, a fact Mickey keeps to himself. Just the way he stubbornly looks at the sandwich, eyes unforgiving. 

He let's Ian finish in peace, buying himself enough time to look around the room. There are posters everywhere, and too many beds for a space so cramped. But like the rest of the house this room also makes everything seem homely. It's nice, Mickey likes it. 

Ian has only finished half of his food when the bed shifts and his hands are carefully working around Mickey's face, thumb tracing the shape of the bruise around his eye. The contact makes Mickey shiver. He doesn't push Ian away despite every instinct in his body telling him to do so.

"I wanna fucking kill him, you know that. Who gives him the right to put his hands on you like this?" There's an actual venom in Ian's voice. "You... You deserve better than this, Mick. I'm gling to keep telling you that. It's not right."

Mickey sighs, finally catching hold of Ian's hands so he can move them away from his face. "Why the fuck do you care so much, Gallagher?" 

Mickey can't help but remember what Derek had said last night " _al_ _l he wants to do is screw you. No one else is gonna give half as much of a shit as I do."_ He hates himself for letting Derek's words leave so much doubt in him. He doesn't like how weak and small he feels to have to ask Ian, wondering if it was true.

Ian looks at him sadly, and shifts closer. "No one should have to be treated like that. It's wrong." The redhead sits beside him, their knees touching. "You know I used to have a massive crush on you?" 

Mickey's brows shoot up into his hairline at the way Ian blushes bright red, as if skin was in competition with his hair. "Really? Why?" He can't remember a time where he spent enough time with Ian in the past to draw such a feeling out of him.

"Um, it was a couple of years back. First day back to school and this asshole was determined to beat some sort of black eye record with me as his target." Ian laughs slightly. "He took a swing at me, nice and hard, and I ended up on the ground. Next thing I saw was Mandy's big brother shoving him aside. Don't know what you said to him but he ran the opposite way." 

Ian stops for a second letting the memory sink in to Mickey's mind. He remembers somewhat of that day. How he had been walking towards his first class when Mandy's ginger friend ended up on the floor with a bloody nose. It was none of his business but this boy was nice to his sister in a way no other people were, and Mickey had respected him for it, so he stepped in and told the other boy to stay away from Ian unless he wanted to end up getting his balls ripped off. Mickey's surprised Ian even remembers this.

"He never bothered me again so I guess whatever you said really spooked him. I was so greatful, I mean Lip, he always defended me but you, you always seemed like you'd kill me if I spoke to you. But there you were that day, my saviour." Ian carefully works his hand over Mickey's as he keeps talking. "You cared. And well, not a lot of people outside my family ever have. Ever since, everytime I saw you around, all I wanted was to see you smile in the way I used to, thinking about how you." 

This is not Mickey's territory. He's not used to sitting there and listen to someone talk about anything like this, but with Ian, it doesn't feel so bad. He doesn't remember ever anyone ever having a crush on him, or ever having someone's hand on his like Ian's is now. It feels nice. He's the one allowing this, allowing himself to let Ian open up the box to so many good things that Mickey has sworn off for life. So he frees his hand, reminding himself why he came here in the first place. 

"Are you okay, Gallagher? Mandy said pills, and you don't fuckin' drink, and no one seems to be able to tell me what's wrong... And... I guess, I guess I'm worried or something over here." Mickey scrubs a hand down his face. 

It was Ian's turn to look uncomfortable, not in the way he did earlier at the diner, but different. Ian looked small, scared.. He pulls his long legs up until their folded under his chin. He speaks so quietly Mickey has to lean closer just to hear him. "I'm Bipolar. You know, high highs and low lows, over and over again. My mom had it too." His voice is getting tighter in that way that warns Mickey to give him space to breathe. "I took it bad when I first found out, refused treatment, refused to let anyone help me. You see, the highs were great, I loved them. But then one day I got low to a bad point. It was..." 

Mickey hears a broken sound rip out of Ian's throat as he huddles further into himself.

"I wanted to die, Mickey. I thought I was... I felt like it was all over. I wanted to die." Ian repeats. "Lip found me when he came home, on the floor bleeding. I'll never forget the look on his face. They rushed me to the hospital, forced me to accept my treatment. I've been good. Good for months now. I did what I had to, I got better. I couldn't leave them... I didn't really want to die... I just... It got so bad." 

Ian's crying now, wet and messy as Mickey finds his arms wrapping Ian up in them, rocking him gently. "You're okay now... Mm, Ian? You're okay. Everything is fine."

The redhead's face is pressed firmly against his chest, fingers picking at the sleeves of his jumper to reveal wrists covered in angry red lines, healing scars one after the other. Mickey feels heavy, his heart sinking as Ian mumbles against him.

"They're ugly..."

Mickey's fingers find Ian's chin, gently tipping it up so he can see him clearly. "No, these... These are a part of you, Ian. You're still here today, okay. These are your battle scars. You did it, you beat it, you're fine." He uses his free hand to pull Ian's arm up, gliding his finger across one of the cuts in a tender fashion. "These tell me a story better than words ever can. They tell me how strong you are, how you got better. Don't you ever forget that." 

They don't say anything for a while, giving Ian enough time to calm his breathing down, and for Mickey to thank the God he's never really believed in that Ian is doing better. He looks down to to find Ian staring up at him through his tears, a shy smile on Ian's lips. "You wanna watch Star Wars with me? I was halfway through when you came over." 

Arms still holding Ian close to himself, Mickey nods. He knows he shouldn't, he's already broken those promises he made when he came over enough. He's letting himself fall a little harder for Ian, but he can't help it. It's gonna be harder this time, to walk away. To go back to Derek. But all the pain will be worth it if he can offer Ian these few moments of comfort. 

"Star Wars, huh? Nerd."

Ian scoffs, wiping at his eyes before he pulls the laptop to place it between their pressed bodies. "Shut up, it's great. You know it, I know it. The whole world knows it."

Mickey grins, the mood in the room already feeling lighter. "Yeah, Harrison Ford is pretty hot."

Ian contemplates this for a second, before he lifts a nonchalant shoulder as his head settles on Mickey's. "I've seen better." 

The implication is clear.

When Mickey opens his eyes, it's already through past the end credits. His body is stiff from having fallen asleep in this position, and Ian's head on his shoulder has left his neck feeling particularly cramped. 

Whatever regrets had been piling up since he came to the Gallagher house hit him like a freight train, as he carefully slides a still snoring Ian's arm away from his waist. He shouldn't be doing this here with Ian, when he has someone waiting for him. Mickey didn't want to be the cheater. As much as he wants to, as much as he hates the thought of going back to Derek, Mickey knows he owes it to the guy to some extent. It was not everyday that someone runs away with you. 

They'll be gone again in a few days, and then he won't see Ian for months, maybe years. The more Mickey let's himself get invested, the harder it'll be to leave it all behind. Yet he still finds himself carding stubby fingers through messy locks of red hair.

He still has Ian's hat with him, having forgotten to give it once they got talking. He leaves it beside the sleeping male.

Ian and him could do it. They could enjoy one night in each others compamy. God above knows Mickey wants it. He wants to feel, taste Ian's lips again. But it wouldn't be fair to his relationship with Derek, and it wouldn't be fair to Ian either. He's not going to give him one night, because in the end, Mickey will have to go, and no matter how much he'll try and play it off as nothing Ian will see through it. Ian needs someone who won't leave him come morning, willingly or not. 

The sun is still out when Mickey manages to make it down the stairs, Fiona seems to have left and he thinks he can get away unnoticed by anyone, but he wasn't expecting to find Mandy sitting there at the table with Ian's older brother Lip. 

"Mick? What are you doing here?" She asks.

He looks at the Gallagher brother instead of Mandy. "Came to see Ian. Ey, Lip, you seein' my sister, or somethin'?"

Lip doesn't seem as interested in Mickey's presence as he is in the latter question. "Yeah, couple of weeks, on and off before that. Visit her a lot from college."

"College, huh? Fuck. 'Least someone else has the right idea to try and bust out of here too. Try to convince her to join with ya'?" He knows it comes across as a joke, but he can't help but wish that Lip understands what's beneath it. Mickey really does want Mandy to end up anywhere but here.

Lip smiles at him, and it's a little too on the smug side, but that's okay. Everyone hides behind something. "I'll try. But only if you can give my little brother Carl a talking to? Fifteen and he's already dealing. I don't approve, but he has his mind made. Just.. Show him how to save his ass out there."

Mickey flips him off, but not without a grin before turning to find that Mandy's expression hasn't changed since he came down. "Jeez, bitch. Will you relax? He and I were just talking. Plus he dropped his hat back at the diner remember, was just bringin' it to him." 

She doesn't look very convinced, and Mickey wants to punch himself because his sister knows him too well. But she also knows better than to confront him in the eyes of company. "If you say so. You wanna hang later? Couple rounds of ammo, you can bring Derek."

Mickey nods his head shortly. "I'll be there, no promises about him, though. I'll ask anyway when I get there. See ya'." He offers them both a short wave.

The fresh air had never been so readily accepted by Mickey's lungs as he finally gets out of the front door. He lights a Marlboro, the brown tip finding it's easy path to between his lips. 

Taking a drag, he let's his shoulders slump. Mickey doesn't really want to go spend the rest of the afternoon with Derek, there's someone else he would really much rather be with. That other person is just someone he has to break an attachment to before it can even form completel. He needs to forget how stupidly he smiles around Ian, or how much he wants to press against him. 

Mickey swears he remembers Ian's touch so well even after experiencing such little of it for such a limited amount of time. He keeps craving it, keeps thinking about it in a way that is gonna end badly for anyone involved. He has Derek, it's the way things are, and they aren't changing anytime soon, because life is not a Disney movie where everyone finds true love. Mickey needs to push the thought of Ian aside before he can do something as ridiculous as dream of what life with Ian could be like.

•••

Before Derek has the opportunity to even question Mickey, he has the blonde pressed against the door. It feels wrong, it makes his skin crawl but it's something Mickey needs to do. He needs to wipe Ian's hands off his body before his mind goes back to that forbidden fantasty. 

"Don't talk, just fuck." Mickey fists hands into the fabric of Derek's shirt, yanking, pulling him closer. Derek's looking confused, yet he doesn't say anything. It's been so long since Mickey has initiated anything. He has the shorter man shoved back against the opposite wall in a swift movement, kissing him fiercely, all teeth and a pained groan threatens to escape Mickey's mouth. They don't do much of this, and he doesn't want to start now. 

He shoves Derek aside, already going for the buckle on his jeans as he walks towards the bedroom. "Don't want any of that, okay? Just get on me." 

Clothes are shed, abandoned on the floor and Mickey's already reaching to grab a condom from his wallet. He refused to participate in any foreplay, he doesn't want to draw this out longer than he needs to. There's a reason to this, otherwise Mickey wouldn't willingly be here as his stomach wants to empty his lunch. 

He feels sick when the same hands that gave him every offending mark on his body are now soothing down the skin, holding his waist as he gets on all fours, urging him to lean back. 

"Mick. Mick, we don't have any lube at the moment. Let me run to the store." 

Mickey shakes his head furiously. He needs to forget now. He needs to let this happen so he'll be too disgusted with himself to want someone like Ian. If they stop now, Mickey isn't sure he'll have the strength to do this again. "Won't be the first fucking time. Just use your spit or something and hurry the fuck up." 

A part of him wishes that Derek might just fight him on it, make the effort to rummage for a tube of cream. Something that'll show Mickey that he was right, and being with Derek wasn't tbe worst thing in the world. But with the dry dick pressing into him, all hope falls from Mickey's mind. Derek only cared to an extent.

It hurts, and continues to do so when Derek begins to move slowly, going harder and faster as Mickey begs him to do so. The pain's blinding him from every memory surrounding Ian. He can't think beyond the burn in his body. Mickey presses his face into the bed, trying to hide the fact that tears are welling in his eyes. His cock is limp between his thighs for a reason, but he persistently moves a hand to grab one of Derek's leading it there. He feels the urge to throw up as the hand on his dick starts moving. He hates how his body can still react to that touch.

Mickey sobs when he finally does come, and not because the sex is fantastic but rather because he's never been so utterly disgusted with himself. He stays up, letting Derek finish, before shoving himself onto his feet and running towards the bathroom. Moving hurts like a bitch, and he's pretty sure his lip is bleeding from how long and hard he'd held it between his teeth. He ends up kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach finally. 

Mickey doesn't cry like most people, it's not loud and crazed. Instead he sits with his back against the cool tiles, silent, and his tears a constant flow down his flushed cheeks. 

Ian's touch is gone, lost under the layers of filth and regret. He doesn't even want to think about that anymore, not when his body feels this royally tainted. Ian's hands didn't belong on something so awful. He's in hot searing pain, everywhere, his ass particularly feeling like it's been torn into. The pain, the self-loathing, it's enough to help fill his mind back with what he deems is the right thought. There are no more happy, fleeting thoughts about this afternoon. He can Ian can never be together. That fantasy is now buried under rubble.

He sits there in the bathroom for hours, slipping in and out of a fitful slumber, but now he really needs one of those painkillers Veronica had offered back in the morning. Mickey carefully rises onto his feet, fighting with his legs to stay strong under him as he slowly slides the door open, greatful that Derek seems to be gone. 

Jeans are out of the question, so instead he manages to get a pair of sweatpants on with only a minimal amount of groaning. He's going back to the Alibi. Where he can take a couple of pills, and wash it down with enough alcohol so he can't feel anything anymore. And that's all Mickey wants. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY POOR MICKEY WHAT AM I DOING   
> The next chapter will be full of Mickey hating on Derek some, don't worry. Also, guys, I want you to know in this fic, Lip is not going to be portrayed as some 2D douchebag. Don't know why we all think he hates Mick and Ian so much. Remember when they had that talk after picking Ian up from the police station.
> 
> Guys, I really suck at using Tumblr and I need like a lot of help mehhh. If you know a tutorial or have advice or something pls help 
> 
> Anyway, my lovelies, leave me some kudos and comments, I appreciate the support so much.
> 
> Until next time! Mwah!


	4. Chapter 4 - Angel Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings;  
> panic/anxiety attack.  
> Use of homophobic language.

Carl Gallagher was nothing like Mickey could remember. No longer the skinny, nearly bald kid that he had been two years ago. He had filled out, muscles lean, but still there. Carl grown too, his height near what Mickey's was, if that were any real achievement. His hair had gotten longer, sectioned into tread locks that paired well with the baggy pants and tacky chain that hung around his neck. 

That wasn't all. His eyes had grown hard, or maybe they were always like that and Mickey had just never paid attention before.

The way Carl carried himself, was with an air of confidence, a brutal sort of stance, that was necessary in this line of work. He didn't look afraid to put a bullet into the head of the man he slipped a brown paper bag too.

Heavy footsteps of the unamed stranger, scurried in the opposite direction and Mickey finds himself finally catching the eye of the younger boy.

He grins at him. "You trynna put my family out of business, huh?" 

Mickey notices that even though, the task was done, Carl hadn't seemed to be able to relax. His shoulders were still tensed. 

"You been out of the picture too long, Mickey. New blood had to rise." And despite the lack of any expression, Carl still sounded smug. "You back or something?"

Mickey shrugs. "Guess I can't be too mad, this isn't even where are main domain was. And no, I'm leaving in a few days." He leans against the lamppost, a single dark brow shooting up towards his hairline. "Don't suppose you'd be fuckin' willing to sample me some?" 

Carl cracks a smile, even if only for a brief moment. "Nah. Those kind of things are bad for business. But if you're willing to buy me a beer, I might reconsider rolling you one." 

Amused as he was, Mickey contemplates the offer for a moment. Buying Carl that beer wouldn't be that big a deal, he's sure the kid at this stage could be swinging on things way worse otherwise. Best to soften the blow. He nods. "Yeah, okay. I'll get you that beer and give you a lecture or some shit." Mickey catches onto the skeptical look that he's getting, and raises his hands up in defeat. "Your brother asked me to. And don' worry, it ain't really what you think." 

It's quiet between them before Carl finally sighs, his body already turned towards the Alibi. "Better not be." 

Mickey doesn't elaborate, hands tucked into his pockets as he follows Carl towards the bar, a single grunt dropping from his lips at the chafing feeling. He needs that stiff drink a lot more than he had thought. 

•••

The sounds start out soft at first, and anyone would have thought they were just the wind, but the closer they got to the Alibi and it's neighbouring alley, it became obvious. There were just silhouettes to anybody eyes, at first, but now, Mickey could clearly see a man with his back pressed to the dingy brick wall, hand fisted into the hair of someone on their knees. The hiss is familiar, the glimpse of blonde hair, too. But then the man speaks.

Time stands still, almost as if it was allowing Mickey to come to terms with the realisation of what he's about to walk towards. Emotions vary. Of course there's anger, annoyance and the worst of all, there's hurt.

"You've got to me  _fucking_ kidding me." He didn't even realise how near he had gotten, or even how loud his voice was then. But Mickey does see a head jerk upwards, and a panic rising in Derek's eyes.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck, getting off man." Derek tugs the man on his knees aside, hands flailing in their attempt to readjust the jeans that are halfway down his thighs. "Mick... I... I can explain. Babe, I can explain."

Derek rambles on for a while, but to Mickey none of it sounds even somewhat coherent. Their relationship wasn't perfect, it was never meant to be, but was this couldn't be what it had come to. He recalls every time Derek has told him, he was in love. Clearly the definition of that word was different to everyone. 

Everything was moving too fast. Mickey's hands clench into fists at his sides. "We just fucked you, asshole. Remember that? Do you fucking remember that?" His teeth are ground tight. "Yet here you fucking are, letting some twink suck you off." It's not a question.

"Baby... Mickey, I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry. It didn't mean anything. It's you, just you. This was nothing. He's nothing to me. You. I lov-"

Hands move in a blur to catch onto Derek's shoulders, the jut of Mickey's knee then ramming hard into his crotch. "Don't you dare finish that sentence." There are hot tears burning in his eyes, the betrayal weighing down on him. The lies piling up. "Fuck you. Fuck you, to hell, Derek.  _Motherfucker."_

He doesn't wait to hear his name being called over and over again, as Derek stumbles to get back onto his feet. Not like this, not right now. Mickey thinks back to earlier today, to last night, where he pushed Ian away. Again, and again, because no matter what how messed up they were, no one was a cheater. They managed to at least stray from that. But there his so called, other half was, dick in someone else's mouth. He wonders how many times this could have happened before. He wonders if every night Derek came home late was because of something like this.

The thought makes his head spin, his already aching body closing in on itself until he feels the same unsettling feeling in his stomach from this afternoon surface.

Next thing, Mickey is leaning a hand on the edge of a dumpster, head bent as he feels the vomit rise up his throat. His body shivering, eyes wet. 

He turns when he hears Carl speak. His voice so soft. "Are you going to leave him?" 

Mickey wipes at his mouth, leaning his forehead against the rusted metal then. "I don't know... I know fucking know. Fuck." His head is racing, and it feels like it may as well implode, but he turns towards Carl, and sees that underneath that hard exterior the kid had built for himself, lived someone who could look vulnerable. 

"You need to leave him. He can't do things like that. They hurt people." Carl sounds so sure of himself, as if he's seen this all before, and it makes Mickey feel worse. He couldn't be more than sixteen, and he'd probably lived through so much more than most people should have to. That seemed to be the regular thing for people in this neighbourhood.

Focusing on nothing more than getting a grip on himself, Mickey let's out ragged breath. The crushing feeling pounding down on his mind, cruel and unforgiving. Something that needed to be buried under a drunken stupor. "Ey, I ain't fucking going back to that place tonight, but follow me. I know a place we can get beer. A fucking lot of it." 

•••

Despite having told Mandy earlier, that he would stop by, Mickey hadn't been very certain of the decision. But he's all out of options, and crazy as his family was, their presence brought a strange sense of comfort.

The first thing he does is finally hand Carl that beer, trying to ignore the looks he's been getting since they started walking towards here. It's not judgmental, it's not pitty, it's pleading. 

He does his best to ignore all of it, really. Because so many others things were wrong right now, for instance, that his current state was drawing unnecessary attention. His face is no better than yesterday, now just puffier from all the crying, and a very noticeable limp because the burn in Mickey's ass was just getting worse. He picks a deserted corner, far enough from everyone else. Arms folded across the his chest.

Mandy comes to sit by him eventually, offering the whole bottle of some lower shelf Vodka. Mickey takes a drink,  letting the unrefined liquid burn as it goes down his throat. He snaps at her. "Got something to say, fucking say it. None of this silent, tiptoe crap." 

She opens her mouth a couple time's, finally sighing. "There was no bar fight. Why did you lie? What are you not telling us?" Her arms are crossed too.

Mickey, laughs, the sound humourless, as he takes another gulp from the bottle. He's so tired of this whole lie, playing it off as a clumsiness, everyone knows he doesn't possess. "Oh, come on, Princess. Try putting two and two together. Ain't that complicated." 

The way her face scrunches up, jaw dropping down as her smaller hand comes to shove at his shoulder. "What the fuck, Mickey? How long... How long has this been happening?" Mandy stares at him like she doesn't believe it. Like she doesn't want to believe it.

As much as finally coming out with the truth felt good, felt lighter on his part, it has its drawbacks. Mickey doesn't like feeling helpless, and he sure as hell hates looking it, especially in front of Mandy.

He shrinks back, more out of embarrassment, than anything else. There's shame attached to this, he's not stupid. Mickey can only imagine how disgusted Terry would have been. "As long as two happy fuckin' years. Why do you think I don't visit?' 

"You gotta be freaking kidding me, Mickey. Seriously. What are you doing with him?" She looks him over, assessing the damage. "He did all this to you." Mandy was furious, that was clear, but her voice quivers at the end. She puts a hand to Mickey's face, touching the swollen skin with the pad of her thumb.

Mickey shoves her hand aside, trying to replicate the way her eyes were narrowed at him. He didn't tell her because he needed help, or protection, or advice as everyone who knew shoved at him. All Mickey had wanted was to quit living a lie. Living lies was all he was ever forced to do. "Like I told Ian, this doesn't mean I don't put a couple dents on his uggly mug as-" 

"Wait." She interrupts. " _Ian?_ Why does Ian know about this before any one of us? Fuck, Mickey you are not going back with him."

Another thing Mickey had not been angling for was being told what to do, he had not come for Mandy's orders, or anyone's. "Hell, if I want to go back to him, I fucking will. I'm a grown ass man, Mandy. I can take care of myself. Been doing it since we were fucking eight. And Ian? He saw some of it. That's goddamn all." 

The two of them just stared at the other, with lips pressed in tight lines, and as much as Mickey wanted to stay calm, to keep everything bottled inside until he was alone, and able to break down without prying eyes, he cracks. Because Mickey was not as made of steel as he liked everyone to think.

He buries his face in his hands, trying to hide those stubborn tears, but his shoulders are shaking. And then, her arms are around those shoulders.

It's not something they've done a lot of, not since they were nine and Mandy would come to his room, shaken, and disturbed by nightmares. Every night since their mother had died, Mandy's head had been filled with terrors that followed her into her dreams. Mickey would hold her when that happened, hushing her cries until she could finally sleep. But as time moved on, and they grew, it happened less and less, till it stopped altogether. She kept herself together by convincing herself that each man who fucked her, loved her in some sick way. And he would drink until sleep came, too wrecked to remember anything, to feel.

Now it was as if the roles were reversed, qnd Mandy was being strong for him. It was Mickey who was crumpling into her. 

"I fucking hate him sometimes, Mands... He gets pissed over his own fucking failures and I get the blunt of it all. Every time, I think of leaving him, he fucking... Who the hell else would want someone as screwed up as me? I'm a Milkovich. Terry's gay kid for fucks sake" His voice is hoarse, slowly pulling out of Mandy's hold to look at her, her reaction. "But fuck it, I'd rather be alone the rest of my life, than be with him. Son of bitch. Do you know what I caught him doing before I got here? Fucking getting blown outside a bar, probably not the first time. The goddamn liar..." 

She looks at him carefully, shaking her head. "He tell you that, Mick? He doesn't know shit. You can do fucking better than that. You're you, you're not dad. You never will be." She squeezes his forearm. "Now get yourself together, pack your stuff, and back at the house in an hour. Or I'm telling Collin and Igg. Won't be as peaceful if they show up." She leaves no place for an argument.

Mickey nods, slowly at first, but more surely later. It's not something he hasn't thought before, but before it had never seemed like a reality. Everything was all out in the open now, and there was support. Support for him. Sure, that made his skin itch in an uncomfortable way, but somewhere deep down, it felt good. Good to be cared for, good to feel safe with someone. Denying it his whole life, Mickey had never realised how much he needed it to feel something. Anything.

"Yeah, okay." He lifts himself onto unsteady feet, eyes darkening just enough, to make it clear he's serious. "You ever tell anyone about what happened here, and I'll give you a titty twister so hard, it'll fall off." 

She snorts, waving him off. "Whatever, assface. Stop stalling. And oh." She smirks at him. "Tell me more about what exactly is going on with you and Ian when you get back. Fucker came down grinning like crazy after you left." 

He flips her off, but not without a blush threatening to take over his pale skin. Ian. For the first time, Mickey closes his eyes to allow himself a look at that fantasy for the first time. About him and Ian, however far fetched a part of him still saw it. Maybe it could work, maybe his mind could finally be free enough to make it work. 

He passes Carl on the way, who hangs back with one of Mickey's cousins. The kid stares at him, but this time it's guarded again, there were to many people around. Just too many. He repeats what he said earlier. "You're leaving him." 

Mickey just nods, saying the words out loud to reassure himself as much as Carl. "Yeah, buddy. That's the fuckin' plan."

••• 

Except executing the plan had seemed easier in Mickey's head then it actually was. His hands tremble as he rummages the room for everything that was his, taking the time out to properly place it in his bag. It gives him ta chance to think, to breathe. To come to terms with the fact that it was over. 

And that worries him. Right now, Terry was locked away, but two more years, three if they were lucky, were not very long. He couldn't possibly still be here when his father got. But without Derek, who else would he runs to? The rush seems to be leaving his body, the adrenaline vanishing with the jitters, so to bring the doubts back to his mind. They never left without him.

Mickey remembers what it had been like that night. It was years ago, but every detail, every little bit was embedded into his memory. He remembers how much blood there was, dripping down his nose, trickling down from the gash on his forehead. He remembers how Mandy had stood there, screaming, pleading for Terry to stop. He remembers the hate in his fathers eyes, how that alone made a lump rise in Mickey's throat.

He remembers how many times he heard that word that night. _Faggot, faggot, faggot._ Like a broken record that got stuck on a track. It wasn't long before figures became a blur, and sounds became distant. Everything went to black.

He woke up alone, and by the time he had gotten to Derek's, it was a quater past one. They'd barley known each other more than a few months back then, but it was somewhat official, at least that's what the two of them had claimed. Now Mickey was no longer even sure of that. They ended up on the highway later, a bag of cash in the backseat.

Together. That was the promise. You and me, against the world. But that faded over time, and soon it was you against me. 

Mickey sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face as he slings that bag across his shoulder, glancing at the clock in the living room. 10:40 PM. If he left now, he could probably make it to their apartment and back, before late morning tomorrow. Just long enough to get the rest of his things.

He looks for the keys to their apartment, pocketing them as the lower swell of his lip is toyed between his teeth. The closer he gets to an exist, the more he feels frozen. Stuck in time, because until barley a half hour ago, Mickey had been so sure that things would clear up, and he and Derek would leave. 

Just one thing Mickey hadn't considered before, he had people who wanted him home. And as he begins to feel even marginally better, forcing the confidence to come to him, Derek walks in.

His eyes fall to the bag on Mickey's shoulder. "Mick... Come on, it won't happen again." 

"Get the fuck out of my way, Derek." Mickey shakes his head, doing his best to stand firmly on legs that shook violently. "We're done, man. We've been done so long. It's probably fucking better this way." He doesn't sound mad any longer, just tired. Mickey tries to push past him.

A hand comes to grab at his soulder, the grip bordering on unfriendly. "Really? So you're just gonna walk away? Like I'm the only one.." Derek snorts. "You came back with that fucking hickey from that redhead. Remember? I fucking love you, you're not leaving." 

Shaking the offending appendage from his shoulder, Mickey turns towards Derek. There's a glassy look to those blue eyes. He's forcing himself not to cry. "Stop saying that. Stop fucking saying that, Der. You don't love me. I pushed Ian away, I didn't want to do that. You didn't stop. That's not love." He yanks his shirt up, revealing the yellowing bruise. "This.. You did this. Does that fucking look like love to you?" 

It's not long before he has his back against the wall for support, a single sob ripping from his throat as he slouches. Derek's hands come down, cupping his face. "I was drunk. I was drunk, and pissed. I'd never hit you otherwise. I love you, Mickey. I really do. It's you who can't say those words."

Air leaves Mickey's lungs with a sharp huff, his head shaking continously. It's like he's drowning, chest burning, his head getting lighter. "You're not drunk half the time, so fucking spare me." His voice looses it's edge, sounding weaker. "I don't love you. I'm sorry. But you don't either, so quit lying. It's over. We're over." 

It's difficult but he forces himself to stand, wiping his sleeve across his eyes. Derek just stands there, mouth agape as Mickey all but runs towards the car, just resting against the cool metal for a second when he feels arms coil around his waist. The touch is gentle, warm. Everything he's not used to getting from Derek. Against every instinct, he melts into it.

"I'll stop. Mick, I can be better. Don't go. Please don't go." The grip gets tighter, he feels Derek press his face pressed into his shoulder. "It's won't happen again." 

Mickey laughs, he actually does. It was always too good to be true "How many fuckin' times have you said that before? Derek... We're done. I can't do this anymore. I'm coming back home. Here." He tries to free himself from Derek, desperately pushing and shoving. It's then when he whispers. "Sometimes you're just like Terry. I can't... I can't do this anymore. Let go off me." 

He expects some kind of rebuttal, more lies, but Derek just flips him around. Trapping him against the side of the car. "Comparing me to Terry? You going to go that fucking low? I saved you from him, you ungreatful piece of shit. What's going to happen when daddy gets out again? You don't have the balls to stand up to him, you fucking faggot." 

The last thing Mickey wants to do is think about that again. He doesn't want to think that far into the future. Not now, not just yet. He shoves at Derek's chest again. He needs to get free, hates being cornered, hates hearing that word. He feels his throat constricting, specks of white disrupt his sight, too many bad memories circling around his head. 

When Derek finally moves, Mickey lands on his knees, clawing at the ground. All he can hear is that voice inside his head, shouting,  _faggot, faggot, faggot._ The anxiety is peaking, a heavy weight on his chest, an even heavier one on his shoulders. He can't move. The air seems so thin, everything hurts. He wants to die, he's going to die. That's all Mickey feels.

Derek mutters ssomething above him. It takes a while to understand what he says, Mickey's heartbeat to loud to his ears. "When you get back to your senses, Mick. I'll be waiting here."

And just like that Mickey is left on his own, waiting desperately for this to pass, willing it to end. He ends up on his back, panting hard. The stress his body has been under all day is slowing down the process. He's so tired, all he wants is to be able to close his eyes. Just for a minute, just for one. So much has happened in one day. He can't take any more.

He feels his mind dangerously slipping towards unconsciousness, and as much as he wants to let it take him, he stands, slipping into the drivers seat. He sends a quick test to Mandy.

11:02 PM :  **Going to pick the rest of my stuff. Everything fine. See u in the morning.**

As much as Mickey knows it's best to wait till tomorrow, to give himself the time to rest, it's as important to get this done today. It's like he's has something to prove, to show Derek that he's strong enough to do this. He doesn't wait for Mandy's response before putting the car into drive. 

••• 

The silence is deadly, it allows Mickey a chance to hear the thoughts that run wild in his head. So he turns the radio to some chanel that is playing rock music, putting the volume as high as it can go. He tries to focus on the road ahead, on keeping his eyes alert, even as his lids droop. 

But of course, Mickey never gets that lucky. He ends up thinking about sex this afternoon, out of all things. It was a lot like the rest of him and Derek. Rough, merciless, lacking any kind of passion. When they fucked, Mickey never felt anything like that. It was always about getting off, leaving no time to enjoy the feel of one and other, no time for gentle touches. 

Then there was Ian, who coaxed him into it. His mouth had been all over Mickey's neck, nipping, kissing, just savoring. And it had felt amazing. Ian, who smiled at him, because of him. Mickey wanted to get to know the redhead. What makes his back arch off the bed, but more importantly, what made him smile, or what it would be like to wake up next to him.

Mickey dares to want Ian like that, let's himself do it. Everything his father, Derek, always made him feel like he couldn't have. As if he'd never be really happy, always settling, always hiding behind something. But the truth was, Mickey was done with hiding. Of hiding who he was, what he really wanted. Fear had always held him back, always trapped him. 

He was done being afraid. It got him nowhere.

It's only been two hours into the drive, and the road was now mostly empty. There's a light drizzle outside, it's pretty. The sound of slow rain hitting the bonnet of the car is like a lullaby. It was calming. It has him transfixed.

He hears the impact before he feels it, hears that shrill sound of tires screeching, before metal collides with metal in a deafening bang. It was so sudden, so disruptive. The car flips, and Mickey forgets to brace himself, the shock staying as he watches the other vehicle involved lay on its side, made compact one one end by the intensity of the crash.

When Mickey was younger, he had always imagined what death would feel like it. He wanted to know what it was people saw as they approached the end of their lives. He had always wondered if they met their God that way.

Death was nothing like he had pictured. It was not difficult, it was not dark. All Mickey could see were bright flashes of light, angelic like creatures floating above him, white and flowing. There was no pain, no suffering. More like an end to it. He was still tired, even more now, but sleep was being offered. It  was offering him rest, peace of mind. Death seemed so kind.

Except those angels were just people who had gathered around his body. Those lulling sounds that drew him in closer and closer were frantic yells. It wasn't God's hold he was in, but the arms of paramedics. 

"Stay with us, Kid. We're gonna help you."

"You'll be just fine, buddy. Fuck, get the door open."

"His pulse is slowing."

Their words are so jumbled. He just hums, eyes kept shut so he can finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too short? I don't know.. I don't.... AH. I just. Better to write something, instead of just contemplating it, right???
> 
> But seriously, ugh, WHY CAN'T I MAKE POOR MICK'S LIFE EASIER. Boo me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this, even if I'm not entirely impressed. Longer chapters next time. I PROMISE.  
> But don't hesitate to leave me a comment or kudos. Mwah.


	5. Chapter 5 - Resurrect The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings; none really, slight talk about Mickey's abuse.
> 
> The POV changes from Mickey to Ian, for a short bit here. You'll know when you see it.

Mickey had never imagined himself in heaven, but if he were to have guessed what it was like, the blinding white light his eyes are met with was pretty close. If it weren't for the constant, distracting sound of something beeping, he would have easily drifted back into the darkness. Ever so slowly, his senses began to return, and the first thing Mickey notices is that his right leg feels unnaturally heavy, as does his head. Actually, his whole body is that way. Stiff and aching.

This couldn't be heaven. There was too much pain.

"Mr. Milkovich? Mickey? Can you hear us?" 

His eyes fly open, trying hard to see beyond the florescent lights that were heavily littered acorss the white ceiling. It's then when he finally sees the owner of the voice. A woman, somewhere in her early thirties has a beam of light aimed at his eye, trying to search it, check his vitals.

Mickey grunts, waving an unwilling hand out to try and push her away. "What.. Where the fuck am I?" 

She takes the hint, stepping back. "You had a terrible accident, Mickey. You're very lucky to be alive." Her hands hold out a capsule and tiny cup of water. "Brought you here in good time. Take this." 

Accident. It all comes back to Mickey. Flashes of rain, the wrecked and smouldering car that flew onto its side beside him, the sudden appearance of glass and metal in front of his eyes. He shudders, finally taking a look down to assess the state of his body. There's a large cast on his right leg, explaining the weight. 

"Well, fuck me. Just my luck." He takes the pill from her, swallowing it down dry. "Wanna tell me all the shit that happened, Doc?"

Mickey catches her staring at the crude tattoos on his knuckles, and he immediately feels self-conscious, turning his head the other way. 

The Doctor coughs apologetically, moving her eyes to the clipboard in her hand. She offers a wry smile. "Your leg it broken in three places, ribs bruised, slight cut to your forehead..." Trailing off, she bites down onto her lower lip. "There were also some other things, that a specialist would like to go over with you." 

Blinking, Mickey finds himself opening his mouth to ask her what exactly she means, when a very familiar group of voices can be heard down the hallway. Then a loud sound of someone being thrown against the floor. He blinks again. 

"You gotta be kidding me..." Mickey groans, turning to look at the alarmed woman. "Please tell my family to shut the fuck up. My head is pounding." 

•••

"You knew? And didn't fucking say anything to me?" Mandy had pushed, more like shoved at his chest the second the door opened.

Ian stumbles back, looking at her with wide eyes and his cocked to the side. Mandy was fuming, barging in to hit his shoulder this time. "What are you talking about!?" Another blow to his shouler. "Ow, quit it." 

Mandy finally holds back her fist, letting it drop so she can smooth out the rumple, the commotion had left in her skirt. Her voice is chipped. "Mickey, you idiot. You knew and didn't think of saying anything? Ian, what the fuck?" 

He swallows, looking down at his feet, a sense of dread hanging in the air between them. "I... He made it real clear he didn't want me saying anything to anyone.. Mandy, look, after the kiss, he just freaked out so much, and-" 

"Woah, woah, woah. Hold the fucking phone. Kiss?" Her eyes grow wide, and she almost ignores the way her phone bellows out a tune. "You kissed him? Ian... Ugh, hold on a sec." 

Ian runs a hand through his hair as she holds the device to her ear, pulling sharply at the ginger strands. He knows he should have done more, he knows he should have searched for Mickey after waking up alone. He glances at the door, thinking maybe he could still catch him.

Mandy's hushed whispers die down, the phone dropping from her hand. "Ian, Ian... He's in the hospital. Fuck, let's go. Iggy got a call, he's bringing the car around." She blindly grabs her dropped item, and runs out. Ian follows her, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. 

The drive to the hospital was setting his nerves on fire. He can't imagine it, he doesn't try to, because any images of Mickey in pain, body mangled makes his head spin. Mandy and Iggy are dead quiet in the front seat, but when she looks back at him, her eyes are so worried. He knows what it's about, and can only hope that she's wrong. Ian doesn't want to think about that being why Mickey ended up in a hospital. His jaw tenses. 

Iggy parks with little grace, and he's already halfway across the parking lot before Ian and Mandy have gotten out of the car. And they only manage to catch up to him at the reception. Intensive Care Unit, that's where they have Mickey. Mandy grips onto his hand tightly, and Ian catches onto the way she tries to hold back tears. He gives her hand aside squeeze once they settle down into the waiting area outside the sets of glass doors. 

Ian is terrified. His heart rate is racing, as they wait to hear from a doctor. He fidgets, trying to distract himself with the footsteps that are coming from across the room.

Someone is pacing up and down, and at first Ian tries to listen if he can find a rhythm to it, but after a while to only feeds his fear. The sound is anxious, much like himself. His head shoots up to snap at the person to stop, but he stops short.

"You." The man, the head of blonde hair; Derek, turns to look at Ian, and his unfriendly eyes narrow. Ian pushes right out of the plastic chair, his hand ripping out of Mandy's grip. "You fucking did this to him, you sick fuck." 

Ian doesn't run in Derek's direction, instead he moves in a slow, menacing way, his entire body vibrating with this rage that has only one outlet. His hands curl tighter, and tighter, nails digging into his own flesh. And against his better judgement, one of those curled fists knocks right into Derek's nose. It was already swollen beforehand, and Ian bakes in the satisfaction of how it makes the bulkier man step back.

Derek recovers soon enough, his eyes burning as they fix Ian with a stare. "I didn't fucking touch him, you crazy son of a bitch." 

He knows he's venturing into dangerous territory, Ian knows he's not supposed to let himself slip into this frenzy state. He's not supposed to allow that sense of heated aggression fill his system. But he doesn't care. "What, you fucking tell yourself that every time? You asshole, if you ever lay another hand on him. I will fucking end you." 

Arms are wrapping around Ian's shoulder, holding him back as he prepares himself to lunge at Derek. Iggy is the one holding him in place, a harsh, scolding tone ready for him. 

"Gallagher, what the fuck are you talking about?" 

Ian laughs, something cold and bitter as he motions his head towards the blonde. "This guy. This. Fucking. Guy." He then turns to look at Mandy, the way she has one worried hand held to her mouth. "You know what he fucking does, Iggy? He beats on Mickey. Guess who gave him that face at breakfast?" 

Satisfied, at the way the arms caging him loosen, Ian steps free. He knows the situation is under control. Iggy looks murderous, slowly stalking towards Derek.

He focuses on breathing then, trying the simple excersises his therapist taught him to try and subdued the fiery hate that would build inside him. 

He almost feels entirely grounded when a timid woman finds herself trying to get their attention. She clears her throat. "You all are very loud, please keep your voices down. I don't want to call security." She steps towards Mandy. "Hi, you must be Mickey's sister. I'm Dr. Allen. Ma'am, your brother was in a car accident, but luckily in not too bad a shape. Would you all like to come see him?" 

Ian sees the relief flood over Mandy, and she nods frantically as she walks briskly in the direction which the woman points in. 

The Doctor then glares at him first, then the other two male's in the distance. "As for you three, sort out whatever is the problem, before coming in. Mickey has had a long day, and needs none of this." With that said, she turns, heels clicking against the tiles as her body dissappears through the glass doors. 

Pressing a flat palm against Derek's chest, other hand used to point in his voice, Iggy barks. "You better not be gone before I get back. We're not close to fucking done here. Ya' hear me?" He then turns his body, signalling Ian to follow. 

They find Mandy standing at the side of Mickey's bed, laughing. "Douchebag, if you weren't already so messed up, I'd beat the living shit out of you. No seriously, Mick. Never fucking do that again. We could have lost you." Her laughter ends with a wet sniffle.

Ian is about to go comfort her when Iggy beats him to it. He has an arm tight around her waist as his other hand rubs Mickey's shoulder soothingly. "I fucking agree, baby bro. God, you sacred the crap out of me. Wouldn't even say if you were dead or not." 

Mickey hasn't even noticed Ian yet, too busy reassuring his siblings again, and again. But when he finally does look over, his blue eyes glow.

"Ian."

•••

Ian had stood right in front of the bed, those beautiful green eyes meeting his own without any hesitation. That moment was the best one Mickey had experienced the whole night, nearly making up for the rest of the disaster it was. 

The name leaves his lips softly, so unsure. "Ian."

The redhead moves towards Mickey's otherside, same gentle touch from before coming to caress his side. "You look terrible, Mick." His smile is infectious and Mickey finds himself feeling a slight tug to his lips. 

"Yeah? Gee, man, I would have thought my face would be spared if nothing else." 

Mickey hears the redhead snort at this, moving to sit in the small space next to Mickey's feet. He reaches out for one tattooed hand, clasping it tightly between both of his. Mickey can feel how warm they are. 

Ian sighs, and he throws the pair on Mickey's other side a glance. "I'm so glad you're okay. God, fuck, what happened? Where were you going?" 

All eyes fall on Mickey at Ian's question, and he just shrugs, running the flat of his thumb across Ian's pale knuckles. "Derek and I broke up. And, uh, I thought I'd go clear my shit out of the apartment. Just didn't realise I was too fucked for a long drive." He bites the inside of his cheek. "I sent Mandy a text, if she'd ever check her fucking phone." 

Mandy shakes her head a few times, before pulling it out just to make sure. "Nothing from you. Not even now. Make sure it sends through, assface. Jesus, Mick, scared the shit out of all of us. Ian and I thought..." 

She trails off and it ends with Iggy glaring at all three of them in turn. He frees himself from the tangle with his siblings and storms outside. Mickey's brows only raise further at the way Mandy rushes after him. 

He turns to look at Ian. "What the fuck is going on?" 

"Derek's outside." Ian finally answers. "Iggy knows. We.. We thought it was him who might have landed you here." 

Mickey's fingers twist into the crisp white fabric of the sheet on top of him, a similar feeling of dread creeping up his spine. He had meant to take Derek off his emergency list, but before now, he had never imagined being close enough to his siblings to have them come instead. He doesn't want him near.

With labored breaths, he tries to let go off Ian's hand, but instead the other let's the hold break. He grabs hold of Mickey's jaw, careful not to upset any abrasions on the skin. "Hey, hey, hey. You're okay, he can't get in here. You think your brother is gonna let that happen?" Despite Ian's words, Mickey refuses to look at him, so Ian tries again. "Mick, listen to me, okay? Derek isn't going to be able to do anything to you. I'll break both his wrists before that." 

He then moves forward, letting his slim fingers reset on the back of Mickey's neck, playing with the short hairs there. It feels good, to be touched this way. To not flinch at the fact thar someone's hands were on you.

Slumping against Ian's chest, Mickey expels a puff of air. "I was gonna come to you when I got back, y'know. Ain't an easy thing for me to say, but I uh... Feel better around you. Yeah." He's lucky Ian can't see him like this, he feels to exposed for that. 

"I would have liked that, Mick. I would have probably exploded out of joy or something." Ian's carding through his hair, and it's soothing.

They hear door slide open, and instead of the woman from before, a man stands there, shrugging his way into his white coat. He looks at them with a solemn expression. "Ah, Mr. Milkovich? I'm Dr. Matthews, my colleague mentioned we needed to have a word." 

Mickey pulls away from Ian, just enough to have his face in view to the doctor. He just nods.

The doctor however, is not looking at him, no he stands there watching Ian with an air of disapproval. "This young man your boyfriend?" 

With a impatient sound, Mickey tries to lift himself up, cursing the gigantic cast on his leg for making it so hard to move. He's had people give him look too many times, the judgmental stare. It brings out the worst in him. "It's twenty-fucking-fifteen. If you have a problem with me liking dick, well th-" 

"No, Mr. Milkovich, that is not the issue." He looks offended at Mickey's outburst and assumptions. "My only concern is what your boyfriend might be doing to you." 

Ian stiffens next to him, scared doe eyes aimed at the doctor. Mickey senses the fear in him, and draws him closer if possible. "In that case, go hound the ugly fucker with the blonde hair outside. My ex. Because Ian has fuck to do with this." 

Without so much of a nod, the man softens his expression. "We obviously did a whole body scan, and found many, many instances of abuse before the crash. On your chest, hip, even your face. And then..." The Doctor pinches the bridge of his nose. "Mickey, is it okay if I call you that? Alright. Did your ex ever try to initiate intercourse without your consent?" 

Mickey feels the colour drain from his skin, and before he can explain Ian's voice is heard, high and alarmed. "What the fuck, Mickey? Did... Did he, oh fucking, I'm going to kill him."

"Easy, tough guy." He yanks a fitful Ian by the collar of his shirt. "Look, Doc, today... Or yesterday, not really sure of the fucking time anymore. But yeah, we were about do it, there was no lube, so, um, there you have it." It makes Mickey cringe to rethink that afternoon. The pain, the hurt that Derek didn't think to stop. He hides behind a grunt. "I'm not some helpless bitch, okay." 

Even as the Doctor nods, Ian has yet to let the muscles in his face goes slack. Mickey rolls his eyes, deciding to deal with that later. "Anyway. It's done, it's over. With him. So don't go all fucking... Sympathetic on me. Done." 

Again, the Doctor ignores him for Ian. "Um, you two seem like a budding romance. Perhaps make Mickey consider a restraining order if things get out of hand. They're known to." He offers them a last awkward wave. "Night, boys." 

Mickey snorts, nudging his nose into the hollow of Ian's throat. "That was a fucking nightmare." No response. "Come on, Ian. Broke it off, didn't I?" He's met with more silence, wincing at how familiar that cold, distant stare is. His voice is lowering its volume. "Ian... Ian, please, just calm down, okay? Like you said, everything is gonna be fine. This is not good for ya'. Come on, man. For my fucking sake, please." 

After The longest two minutes in Mickey's life, Ian brings himself to see something, which he guesses, is beyond Derek's bloodied skull. "Just know. If I ever do see him again, I'll kick his ass." He then ghosts a breath over Mickey's ear. "Budding romance, huh? Gonna let me take you out when you're free to leave from here?" 

Mickey grins. "Oh, fuck off. But yeah, fine, we'll go to Sizzlers or some shit. God, Gallagher, you trynna' get into my pants?" 

"Can't say I haven't thought about it before." Ian's teeth nip gently at his earlobe. "I was fifteen the first time I touched myself to thought of you. You were all sweaty from a work out." 

It's whispered, so sweetly, almost like a purr, and Mickey barks out a laugh. Turning his head enough to capture Ian's lips in a kiss.

Just like their first, it holds enough passion to make Mickey's cheeks get hot, yet at the same time it's slow, giving them time to savor one and other. Mickey wants to spend a lifetime, familiarising himself with Ian's mouth. He wonders what else that mouth can do. 

They pull away at the sound of someone coughing, and Mickey groans, turning to see his brother and sister approaching. 

Iggy wipes his hand on his jeans, dropping into the chair in the corner of the room. "Ian, buddy, you've always been a favourite of mine. You're good to Mandy, you stood up for my brother's honour. I fucking trust you." His eyes darken then, and Mickey finds his eyes rolling again at this display. "I just left that bastard needing assistance in six different places. I don't want it coming to that point for you, clear?" 

"We're totally clear." Ian nods eagerly, but his expression proves how serious it is. 

Iggy smiles at him, clearly satisfied before he turns to Mickey. "Now, you. You let this happen for that fucking long? What the hell, Mick? Who needs that kinda fucking shit in their life? You should have told us sooner. That said, he gives you anymore trouble, well, Collin and I will need the car to dump a body into the river." 

Mickey knows it's no joke, but finds himself laughing anyway. "Thought the tradition was to bury them? But don't worry, Ig. I've been looking for an out. Just..." He bites down on his bottom lip, and Iggy gives him a look, saying he understands.

Everyone is doing their own thing then, and Mickey feels sleep calling his name. He hasn't slept right in two days, and it's catching up. He yawns twice in a row, slumping lower.

Mandy comes to place a hand on his arm them. "Maybe we should go, yeah? Let you catch some sleep. Fuck knows you need it." 

He barley registers what she says, no longer afraid that once he let's his eyes close, they'll stay that way. 

"Mm'kay. Whatever you say." His head, currently resting against Ian's chest, drops onto the actual pillow, his grip on said man going limp.

Iggy also stands then, and he stretches. Mickey frowns. It must have been late, and none of them had been able to sleep yet because of him. 

His brother stops at the door, throwing Ian a glance. "Come on, Gallagher. I'm making you drive the first bit. Let's go."

"Plus your morning pills, it's almost time for them." Mandy chimes in. 

Ian shakes his head rapidly from what Mickey can see, and he shuffles closer to the brunette. He smiles into the soft, cushioning surface. "Stop clinging to me, you big dopey Gingernut. Go home with them, you can come see my ass tomorrow. I can't get very far, believe me." There's a tired noise of protest from above him. "Ugh, Ian... I'm serious. I'll sleep something like sixteen hours. Come back in the mornin' or whatever." 

Ian, has this goddamn pout on his lips, so when Mickey lifts his head up enough to catch a look at it. He would have laughed more if he wasn't so tired. Then suddenly, those lips are on his forehead. "Fine. Fine, I'll go. But expect me back here soon, staring at you creepily as you sleep." 

"Alright, Edward McSparkles. Just go, I need fuckin' beauty sleep. It's crucial at this stage." 

There's a chorus of goodbyes, but Mickey doesn't wait, awake, long enough to make out exactly what he hears.

No, he finally sleeps without having suffered a blow to the head.

•••

The first thing Mickey notices when he wakes up, is that Ian, true to his promise is there, and he's pulled the chair close to the bed. Only, he was fast asleep. Mickey snorts, managing to sit up without exhausting himself too much. His leg no longer feels abnormally heavy, sure having the added bulk to it is still an alien feeling, but something he could get used to. 

Deciding to wait and see if Ian would wake up on his own, begins to bore Mickey, and before any real time has passed, he chucks a ball of tissues at him. "Ay, sleepyface. Wake the fuck up." 

Ian nearly falls of the chair in a haste, his face puffy and voice heavy with sleep. "I'm up, I'm up." He groans, and moves to climb onto Mickey's already full bed. "They said we could take you home when you woke. It's just... M'sleepy." The redhead yawns into his shoulder, before getting comfortable. 

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. You get some sleep while I take an eternity to change." Mickey reaches for the clicker on the bedside table, and holds his finger on the button until a nurse comes in. "Hi, I need some fuckin' crutches or something and the clothes I... Came in I guess?" 

She nods at him, confused. When a muffled voice comes from the bed. "I brought some fresh ones. They're in a backpack somewhere." 

The nurse nods again, and steps outside, returning once she has what Mickey had asked for, retrieving the bag as well. 

Mickey huffs out a breath before slinging the bag over his shoulder, adjusting the crutches under his arms as he hobbles towards the bathroom. It's the most challenging thing he's ever experienced with clothes, even worse than getting into a suit, but luckily it's a pair of sweatpants so they slide over the cast easier than anything else would have. 

When he emerges back into the room, a swaying Ian is holding himself up with the help of the bedrail, as the same nurse from before offers a wheel chair to him. 

Mickey chuckles. "Sit in the damn chair, you moron. You need it more than I do. Don't want ya' falling and hurting that pretty face or sumthin'. 

Dropping down into the chair without any argument, Ian rubs his eyes a few times. "You can always sit on my lap. I don't mind." 

"Fat fucking chance." Mickey, shakes his head, because there were too many people, and frankly he's not in the mood for any strange looks. 

With Ian, wheeled by the nurse in front, Mickey follows behind, trying to get the hang of moving like this. It's not as hard as he thought, but he is immensely greatful that there's an elevator to take. Stairs are a flat out no.

Apparently Iggy had been waiting out in the parking lot the whole time, because they find him leaning back against the trunk of the car, a foam cup in his hand.

He laughs when he sees Ian. "Here you go, Champ. Trust me, you need it more than I do." 

Greatful hands reach out for what Mickey assumes is coffee, and Ian finally stands on his own, and politely waves the nurse away. He then proceeds to assist in holding Mickey upright as Iggy places the crutches in the front seat, making sure to pull it forward to leave more space behind it.

They help Mickey get into the back seat one leg at a time, Ian coming to settle beside him from the opposite door. The cup in Ian's hand is empty, and his whole body seems more awake, even if only by a marginal amount.

Driving in silence picks at Mickey's nerves, because the air in the car is tense. He sees Iggy's knuckles grow white, as they clutch the steering wheel hard. He takes a deep breath, shifting his head to look at the much more placid redhead at his side.

Said redhead, of course, takes notice of his blatant confusion. He whispers into Mickey's ear. "Cops won't press charges on Derek without a statement from you." 

Hearing this, Mickey's whole attention shifts back to his brother. He leans towards the gap between both front seats. "Ig, I don't wanna, okay? Let's just fucking forget about it. He'll go back to Michigan, I'll be here. End of." Mickey crosses his arms. "Not that kind of fucking thing you won't people discussing at the Alibi. So drop it." 

Shame is something living in the house Mickey did, he knows well. And even though the passage of time had let him accept some things about himself, there were still things that needed to stay swept under, things Mickey refused to say out loud.

Iggy doesn't look impressed with the answer. "If you don't want to, fine. But I ever see the fucker near you, I'll rip him apart. This is serious, Mick."

No one else says anything then whole drive home, and all Mickey wants to do is glower at his brother.

•••

"Well you really didn't wait before jumping into bed with the guy, huh?" 

All Mickey had wanted to do at this point, was go to his room, settle into bed with Ian and then maybe make out like horny teenagers, so seeing Derek on his front porch steps was definitely putting a damper on things. 

They had been dropped off outside the house, Iggy muttering an apology about having to be somewhere, and turning towards the house, Mickey had frozen by Ian's side, lowering his gaze to the ground. Derek was right there

Words are stuck in his throat, his mouth suddenly to dry. So when Ian steps in front of him, Mickey is too greatful, even if a part of hopes that no one is around to see him cowering.

Ian is standing upright, foot tapping, as he holds out a single finger. "First things first, I haven't gotten Mickey into bed, yet. But when I do, oh fuck, am I gonna make him feel great. That thing you fail to do. And second," Ian looks Derek up and down, with a pitiful sound. "Do you really wanna cause more trouble? I'm sure you don't need any more bruises. So please, move aside." 

It was strange how Derek would act when faced with Ian, it was something different. Mickey can't place it, but when the blonde moves aside, he breathes out a sigh of relief, allowing Ian to help him up the small amount of steps. 

Looking back, he sees his ex-boyfriend stare right at him, before those eyes soften, the same sick cycle fighting to survive. "When you decide you're ready to forgive me, I'll be staying at my cousins." 

"Don't fucking hold your breath." Mickey all but grunts, before he's pulled inside by Ian's larger hands. 

The house is empty, beside them, and Ian lures him into bed with the promise of chocolate and a beer to get him to stop seething. They lay there, on top of the new sheets, legs astray and arms touching. Mickey never gets what Ian bribed him with, but there is a lit cigarette handed to him. 

Nicotine invades his blood stream and Mickey already feels less aggravated. He puts it out with the side of the bed, before returning his view to Ian. "We're in bed. Think you said something 'bout me feelin' great." Eyebrows waggle, as his hand finds itself rubbing Ian's knee, trailing up closer to his crotch.

The man in question laugs, burying his face into Mickey's chest. "Your leg is broken, can't really bend you over anything really. Hmm, what if, you let me take a nap, and I'll blow you after." Ian's head lifts enough for a lewd smile to be displayed. 

"Yeah, okay, fuck. I can do that." Then on a softer note he adds, "Get some sleep already." 

Snores fill the room, within minutes and Ian is fast asleep. Mickey gazes at him the whole while. It was something unreal, what was going on. If someone had asked him if he saw his life taking a direction like this, last week, Mickey would have laughed. Nothing like this ever seemed possible. And as much as a part of Mickey wants to run, away from another possibly doomed relationship, from commitment, he stays right there, his arm around Ian's waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I entirely impressed with this chapter? Not suuuuuuure. But uh, it's been a bad couple of days. Got a terrible diagnosis, you could say... And the Risperidone makes me all fucked. I skipped it yesterday to get the creative juiciest flowing again.
> 
> Things are looking up for our beloved twosome, but well, you know how that goes. Things may get rocky again.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you lot enjoyed it. Leave some support, yeah!? Mwah.

**Author's Note:**

> So don't hate me, BUT I AM ONLY ON 5X06. Why you ask? Because well I know what happens and I'm too chicken shit therefore to actually reach that episode. Yikes. 
> 
> So yeah, I really fucking love Gallavich, and I hope this story does all you fellow fans justice. And you all are totally justified to hate Derek from right here, the start. Aha. I also hope to update of a weekly basis. No seriously, I will try my best not to be late on it. 
> 
> And of course, comments and kudos are always appreciated. Mwah.


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